Just Another Teen Story
by MathemagicianSVU
Summary: AU. This isn't a story about someone being able to blame others for the scars that she's wearing, this is a story about someone who did this all to herself. Alex/Casey(-friendship).


**A/N: Well, this will be a mini-story. Probably just a few, short chapters. Casey's POV. I don't own the characters, I do own the story. :p**

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**_Prologue_**

_This is the untold story of a lonely girl at high school. Some might understand, some might not. Some might be able to identify, some might not. The things I did, and most importantly, I did not. The things I missed, because I was just not living. I wasn't dead either, but I wasn't living. You could say I was in limbo, balancing between life and death. And that was what my life was like. Choosing between life and death every day. Surviving the days, as they passed by. I longed for some control, which I couldn't get. I tried to escape in other things to regain my control, but that wasn't getting me anywhere either. This isn't a story about someone being able to blame others for the scars that she's wearing, this is a story about someone who did this all to herself. This is a story about someone, who hated herself so much, she was able to live like a shadow for almost two years.._

**_Chapter I_**

Freshman year of high school had started for me just two weeks ago, and to me it was like a living hell already. I had friends, before I went to high school, but suddenly they changed into some kind of bitches or something. Or maybe they didn't change, but I did. I don't know. Thing is, I heard them talking about me the other day. About how resentful they found me, and how much they hated me. They were arguing about who was the one that had to sit next to me. I didn't confront them, I just stopped talking to them. I hated them. But most of all, I hated myself. I hated myself to the bone. I wanted to just be someone else instead of myself. Anyone, except me. I couldn't push myself into finding new friends. Or actually, I did try, but those turned out to like my old 'friends' and just ignored me. That's when I decided I shouldn't have friends. I could live through high school on my own.

In middle school, people called me names because I was fat. Or actually, I wasn't that fat, because I was like 132 pounds and about 5 feet, 7 inches tall, but I was fat enough to be bullied. But then again, people were actually mean to everyone. It didn't even bother me that much. I didn't even think that was the reason in the first place, but I couldn't push myself into eating anymore. First, I stopped eating at school. After a few weeks, I managed to fake my own breakfast, so my parents wouldn't find out the only food I ate, was dinner. And even then I only ate a small piece of meat, a tablespoon of vegetables and half a potato. I lost about 25 pounds in three months, until my ex-friends apparently found out. Once during gym class one of them sat next down to me and told me I lost a lot of weight. I didn't even tell her that I stopped eating.

That evening, my parents wanted to talk to me about something. I could only guess what that something was. They told me that they heard I lost a lot of weight, and if I was eating properly. They told me they found out about me throwing away food. Apparently, my teachers were worried about my behavior. I wasn't talking in classes, and I was just sad all the time, they said. Well, that was something true. I was always sad, but I felt numb. I hated myself. I wasn't allowed to feel sad, because it was my own fault. I didn't want to die out of self-pity, because I was the one who made me that way. It was my own fault. I chose to be like this. I chose to isolate myself from anyone else. Well, my parents were worried about me, too, so they sent me to the doctor. I was obviously having an eating disorder, so I should be treated for that.

In my mind, I wasn't having an eating disorder. I was just not eating. And I weighed myself at least two times a day, to see what effect food had on me. I liked the feeling, that I lost a fraction of a pound again. It made me feel in control. This I could control. All the other things, I wasn't the one influencing fate. Except maybe school. I was a straight A student, but I wasn't that proud of it either. Actually, I really got sick if I didn't get an A, but an A- or a B. I was a perfectionist. I wanted things to be perfect, but things weren't perfect. I went to some psychologist to talk about my eating disorder. I lied to them and told them I just wasn't hungry. They weighed me, and they told me I had to be lighter to be anorectic. That I was too heavy to be anorectic. They told me I had to lose about four pounds to be underweight, or turn fifteen. I tried to weigh 105 pounds, and not any less. It was my goal. I had a goal.. After about three appointments, they decided I wasn't having an eating disorder after all, and dropped me as a client.

After a while, I got sick of constantly studying, so I signed on a panel forum to talk about stuff. My parents weren't really fan of it, because they told me that's how people get raped and kidnapped and stuff. I said I was only talking to them, but I tried to keep everything a secret. I didn't talk to my parents about everything. I didn't talk to anyone. Nobody knew how I felt about myself. I found the forum as an escape. My only escape. It didn't take long, before I found a girl, Alex. We really got along. She was about a year and a half older than I was, but she was troubled, too. Well, she wasn't dealing with the same stuff as I was, but she wasn't clean either. So I told her about myself, and how I resented myself. I told her about my relationship with food, and about the longing to be able to control things. I wanted to feel something else than constant loneliness and sadness. I was stuck in my head, with only my thoughts. The thoughts that were sickening me.

At night, I couldn't sleep. I slept only five hours a night at maximum. Sometimes I just didn't sleep at all. My thoughts were keeping me awake again. Sometimes I just cried all night, just because I hated myself so much. Alex asked me if I pitied myself, but I told her I didn't. I told her that somehow, I think I deserved feeling like this. I did something wrong. Well, I did all kinds of things wrong. I was throwing my life away like this, which made me even less worthy of living. You could say it was a vicious circle. It was getting worse and worse, and there was no stopping. Maybe Alex managed to curb it a little, or I just reached the bottom, but I think my sadness somehow turned into depression. The thoughts of ways to kill myself showed up more often and often, and I slept lesser and lesser. And if I did sleep, some creepy guy would chase me in my dreams. I would run away from it, as fast as I could, mostly down endless spiral staircases. I would wake up exhausted. Sometimes I wondered, if it would be better to just not sleep at all.

In the morning, I cycled to school. Six miles there and six miles back. Sometimes I wondered how my body managed to persevere with little energy in my muscles, but I did. I probably reached some kind of survival mode. When I cycled, I listened to music. I found a song I could really identify with, called 'Mad World', performed by Gary Jules and Michael Andrews. I especially liked the sentence 'The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had.' That was true on so many levels. It was so much better to dream about dying, instead of being chased by some scary people. And the bottom line was just that I wanted to die. I didn't see any reason to live. I didn't have someone to live for. Well, except maybe my family, but I figured they would get over it. I became obsessed with death.

I found a guy on the internet, who was obsessed with death too. I talked to him about all these ways to kill yourself. I imagined doing them. Sometimes, when I cycled to school in the morning, I imagined me throwing myself in front of a truck, or I imagine tripping and falling with my neck on the barbed wire, almost decapitating me, but dying in an instant. It was actually pretty sick, and I knew about that. It was just that thinking about it that much satisfied my need to actually do it a little. I didn't understand that either, since I was still walking on planet earth, being useless and all kinds of stuff. The year passed by really slow, but by the end of the year, I managed to arrange a meeting with Alex. She was my only friend, whom I truly trusted. I told her everything about myself. Except of the need to kill myself. Or maybe she knew, I didn't know. The day I met her was one of my best days in my life. Well, maybe not of my life, but at least in a pretty long time. We got along in real life even more than on the internet. She said she was a little scared about how thin I was. You could see all of my bones, she told me. I didn't see it like that. I saw myself as normal.

Two months after that meeting, we met again. I stayed for the weekend, since we lived forty miles away from each other. That night, I told her about my wish to die. She cried all night. She told me she would be devastated if I killed myself. I couldn't believe her, because I saw myself as worthless. She told me she loved me as a friend. She told me I was her best friend. I told her she was my best friend, but since I didn't have any more friends, that didn't mean so much. She told me her father attempted suicide after she did something wrong. He failed, but she always felt guilty about it. I told her about my mother's attempted suicide when she was young. I kind of decided to never kill myself, because you could hurt other people by doing that. I would hurt my parents and brother and now, I would hurt my friend.


End file.
